End of the Song
by Iscalta
Summary: The ending we deserved.


"Dawn"

Yohn Royce coughed as someone dragged him to his feet, pulling him out of a pile of corpses. Snow and ash together danced softly from the sky, and he could barely lift his arms. He was old and slow, nothing like his younger years- but when he saw the sun poke over the walls of Winterfell, he knew they had won the day. Corpses scattered around the castle, rooftops, battlements like leaves after a storm. The living, the dead- all were at rest now. He panted heavily, his flabby chest heaving, as someone daubed away at his eye- after blinking away the blood, he realized one of the Dothraki had him in his arms, two Unsullied and a wildling keeping him steady. "I-" he began, but the rider shushed him. Yohn felt himself get eased back, and he felt the sensation of falling slowly, before his head came to rest on a wooden platform. Dimly, he realized he was on a cart. That was when he felt the pain in his side, the hot blood flowing down to soak his nethers. "Aggh…" he hissed, as he was taken toward the infirmary. Looking skyward now, he saw the Queen's pet, the black dragon, gliding down to rest in the courtyard. Looking to the side, he caught a flash of flowing red hair standing on the battlement. He tried to speak, but before he could find the words, he was unconscious.

"Make sure Lord Royce receives the best of care." Sansa Stark told the midwives- anyone who knew anything about injuries was invaluable at this point. Rhaegal's agonized shrieks and cries of course drowned out the human inhabitants of Winterfell about once every thirty seconds, but they got to finding survivors, any survivors- and identifying the fallen. At first, the effort was to separate them- Unsullied, Dothraki, Northman, Essosi freedmen- but eventually the workers simply lined them up outside the walls of Winterfell as one. One unbroken, homogeneous, victorious people. Soon though, the living simply dropped where they stood, too tired to do anything more than fall asleep. Having not fought, Sansa was spared this latest burden, gently easing the men up and to the halls. "Fires in the hearths, all about the castle." She ordered. Jon and the Dragon Queen had gone, she didn't know where or care. Her concern was the next person, the next, the next. After what seemed like hours, she finally sat down on the stone steps, lay her head on a carved dire wolf, and slept in the morning sun.

Eventually, those asleep outside or in the yard finally roused, looking at each other. After all the blood, all the mud, it was impossible to tell one apart from the other. Davos thought he had an Unsullied at his side helping him along until he realized it was a wildling girl with a shaved head. "Easy, grey-hair. You're not hurt but your bell's good and rung." she sang softly. _Maybe that's why my head feels like that giant tapped it with his fist_, Davos thought. Who had killed it? It fell long before the Army of the Dead had ceased to fight- and then he saw the little body beside the massive bones. To Davos Seaworth though, it wasn't a Mormont lying there, in bloodied armor. It was a girl in a gray dress, with the 'scale on her face, a carved deer in her gentle hand. He took a long breath- and began to sob like a baby. Two men with muddied faces watched the old knight go. They looked around, surrounded by more corpses than survivors, and turned to each other. "I think done with fight, I." one said with the accent of the Great Grass Sea. "Done with fight." The other replied, with more than a touch of the Frozen Shore in his voice, wiping his face to reveal a Thenn's scars. "At least, no ice spiders." The Dothraki grinned- and threw up until his stomach hurt.

When the butcher's bill was finally tallied as best as the officers, chieftains, and riders could figure, they had lost three and a half of every five men- not including those who would die due to injuries in the future. As neither Jon Snow nor Daenerys Targaryen could be located, they simply began rousing the sleepers and trying to get everyone inside. Wounds were stitched shut, tears shed, and mugs filled. Soon, the only sounds apart from Rhaegal's shrieks outside the wall were gulping and weeping. Grey Worm sat on the high table as Missandei of Naath daubed away at his face. He looked to her, and to her shock, she saw terror in his eyes. He had been buried alive by the dead, only for them to collapse on top of him, around him, at the last possible moment. Tears fell from his cheeks. "An Unsullied is a man, not a weapon." she told him, taking his head to her shoulder. The others could not see it, but she could feel him weeping.

Jaime woke pushed up to the very stones of the Winterwall, pinned in place by fucking corpses. "Oh….right." He said, looking at the sun before extricating himself. Immediately he turned to look for Brienne, Pod, anybody familiar. He panicked when they weren't there, then relaxed as that could only be a good thing. Nobody at Winterfell seemed to be in a rush to help the Summerhand, the Goldenhand, the Golden Lion out of his predicament, though. _Eh_, he thought. _You knew this was how it's going to be, old boy. Gird your loins. _In the distance, he could see figures approaching. Finally managing to escape the grasps of countless skeletons, he staggered toward them. Silver and black. "Oh, joy. The first friendly faces I see are a Targaryen and a Stark." he moaned, wincing as he made his way to them. "Good morning." He said once they reached a close enough distance. "Uhh…" he looked at the pair. Jon's face was filthy, he'd gone down hard when Rhaegal landed, whereas Dany's eyes were full of tears. "Permission to rest awhile, then?" he chuckled before nearly falling over- Jon caught him, holding him upright. "Jon Snow. I remember telling you what men were made of. It didn't occur to me that what men were made of could pose more of a threat than the men themselves." Then, Jaime Lannister began to laugh. Jon's eyes went wide as the man without honor roared a defiant golden laugh across the moor, before taking the pair of them in his arms and hugging them close. 'Thank you for this.." he said to both and neither. He could feel Jon's scratchy beard on one cheek, Daenerys' smooth, soft face on the other. "Now, I do believe we're in need of slight revision of the order of battle."

It was three days before the castle's defenders staggered fully back to life. Blinking away the tiredness of battle, injuries tended, tears shed, they congregated around the lined-up bodies of the dead. Jon stepped up to them, holding a torch. "They came to us from North and South, from East and West. From the Frozen Shore to the Summer Isles. From the Vale of Arryn to the Dothraki Sea. They gave their lives to end the Long Night. We shall never see their like again." He touched the torch to Theon Greyjoy's breast. Eleven other torches descended in turn, sending the dead to eternal peace. When he turned back towards the castle, his eyes found Dany's. He'd need to talk to her, he realized. Everyone had seen him riding Rhaegal, questions would be asked in time. Right now though, she was too full of grief for her bear. Her sniffling and low sobs drew the dragons' attention- Gods, Rhaegal really looked dreadful. His dead brother had opened up a half dozen bleeding wounds in the green dragons' neck and chest, his wing was torn…and Jon realized that one of Rhaegal's bronze eyes was reduced to a bleeding hole. His breath hitched in his massive chest- in too much pain even to cry out. "Easy, boy…" Jon muttered, reaching for Rhaegal's side. The others saw, of course they did- but Jon didn't care.

"Well, here we all are." Jon said to the people filling Winterfell's great hall. "What's left of us, anyway." he amended. Dany sat to his left, Sansa to his right. "I think it's safe to say we aren't going anywhere anytime soon." Not just bodily injury, he knew. Grey Worm had hardly said a word, and the Dothraki, far from celebrating, wandered as if sleepwalking. They had been hit hardest. Only one man in twenty who sailed with Daenerys Targaryen stood here now. "So for now, I think it's best we simply take our time. Eat, drink, heal. Live." he said, picking up his cup. He could feel Dany wanting to say something, but right before her voice broke the silence, he raised the cup, full of whatever wine had been found in the cellar. "To the dead, without whom, we would be walking south at this very moment. To the living, who will no doubt honor their sacrifice." he called. "_**TO THE DEAD. TO THE LIVING**_." The room echoed. Once their attentions had gone from him, he walked out of the hall, nodding to a bleeding Varys, who nodded back.

Of course, as soon as he found a room with a chair in it, Daenerys came straight through the door after him. "The I-" she began, but he cut her off- pulling her near, and pressing his lips to hers. His breathing was labored, winded, pained, and he could not get enough of her. It was nearly a minute before he broke the kiss. "I had to do that, one more time at least." he explained, sinking into his chair. She looked down at him, lips slightly parted. "You seem to be…of rather better humor than I expected you to be, given… events." No doubt she meant the truth of his being. "I seem to be…of rather better humor than _I _expected me to be, given…events." he replied, pulling a skeletal hand out from under the chair and tossing it into the hearth, lighting a fire. He knew she was burning to talk about it, about claims, and thrones, and crowns, and the South. "Let it go, Dany." he said, looking up finally, arms on his legs, too tired even to hold himself up. "Once you step out of the North, the rot begins. All the kingdoms are is people looking to bury daggers in each others' backs- It's cold here, yes, your dragons may not like it… but cold preserves, Dany. It stops the bleeding, stops the pain. We won the war that matters. It's time to stop the bleeding now." he said, pulling up another chair for her. For a moment, it looked like she'd take it. Then she turned and strode out of the room.

"Where are you going?" the voice of Sansa Stark called to Daenerys as she walked away from Jon Sn- no, from _Aegon Targaryen_. Dany meant to leave her behind, but Stark had other notions, hurrying up behind her and taking her arm. "Where are you going?" she repeated. Dany did not answer. _A bad sign_, Sansa thought. "Fine. Allow me to make the first effort toward reconciliation." she said astutely, before pulling Dany in for a kiss as well- devoid of lust, but full of passion. It was so unexpected Dany could only kiss back before she realized just what she was doing, and who she was doing it with. With a sharp shove, Sansa was sent to the opposite wall. "What are you doing?!" Dany hissed. "Oh, she talks." Sansa replied. "I am your-" "You are my brother's dearest love. You're also the reason we're all not dead. If Jon is my King, and you are his match in every way, and fit to sit beside him, what does that make you, dunce?" Sansa said evenly. She took the queen's hand while Dany struggled to even think up a reply. Taking her to the rooms she had as a girl, she checked under the bed for a corpse- the survivors quickly learned to look for corpses everywhere. "Bones don't rot, but they bring rats." the saying became. Torn between losing Jorah Mormont and nearly all of her Dothraki as well as a large portion of her Unsullied, Sansa surmised that the Dragon Queen had seen better days, if never a worse one.

She took Dany's hands to her lips. "We won together, Daenerys. We fought, the sweepings of a hundred lands poured into Winterfell to defend the world from the Long Night, and we _won_. Surely, even you can see that we're not meant to be apart. You and Jon are just the start. The Old North, the North of the Glovers, Cerwyns, Manderlys, Boltons, Mormonts, Starks, it's gone. There will be no more Starks after I and my siblings leave this world. I will not let my homeland become an abattoir of wolverines fighting over wolf bones. For that, I need you. _We_ need you. _All _of you. The country is depopulated of strong young men, thanks to the War of Five Kings, the Battle of the Bastards and now this Long Night. Your Dothraki, if they behave, will find no shortage of wives here. Elderly parents who've lost their children to the wars may have Unsullied to care for them. It isn't giving your finest soldiers true families, but it's better than an unmarked grave on the road to King's Landing." Sansa said breathlessly. Dany blinked, shaken by the girl's fervor. "What about the South?" she asked, eyebrow raised in that damnable way that always charmed Jon, it seemed to Sansa. "The Iron Throne-" she began, and Sansa slapped her in the face. Shock took the place of her careful diplomatic mask, even more so when Sansa's hands cupped Dany's face lovingly. "I lived in King's Landing for years. I saw one of the worst possible people sit in that chair. The citizens of the new North care little and less for the south, anyway. Leave it for Cersei, she deserves the horrid thing. Your throne is _here_, Your Grace." Sansa said, getting to one knee. Dany's heart began to flutter. "Your place, your peoples' place, is _here_. Stay with us. Rest. Heal. Marry my brother if you like. I'd happily perform the rite. You so want to rule…but we're past rulers. Crowns and thrones and kings, we just sent an army of corpses led by a frozen horror back into fable- for good this time. You need to be reminded what it is to _live_. Jon it seems is a potent instrument of that. Imagine what a child borne between you two would be heir to. No thrones, no keeps- but the devotion of two starkly different sides that became one- and that desperately need to _remain_ one." Sansa said.

Dany swayed as if drunk. It had been an effort to get two words out of her before, and now…The girl's passion, eagerness for something, her fire for… for this union, oddly, absurdly reminded her of when Khal Drogo promised Dany Rhaego would sit the Iron Throne. She'd wanted to say something back at the toast, if you could call raising cups to a mass grave a toast, but the sight of so much loss had… cooled her? All her life, with Viserys and after, she'd wanted the Iron Throne. After everything, though…Aside from her dragons, only one of whom was remotely in long distance flying shape, her army and Cersei's were relatively equal now. And that was on the game board- in life, she doubted they'd last an hour at full march. Viserys it turned out, had known nothing about anything. What if the Iron Throne was just…just…just another of his webs of dream? The thought made her stomach hurt so much she actually cried out in pain, but Sansa was there to hold her. "Agh…" Dany cried out, her forehead on the taller girl's shoulder. "ATTEND!" she heard the red wolf howl, her world spinning. "THE QUEEN IS HURT!" _The Queen_, Dany mused as Sansa lowered her to the cool stone- the feeling of it on her burning skin was heavenly. _She called me the Queen_, Dany mused, smirking ever so slightly. She turned her head and felt blissful relief as her cheek touched snow-chilled stone. What had Jon said? _Cold preserves_, she remembered. _Well then, I hope it preserves me_.

"Time to Live"

Dany woke in a comfortable bed, a cool wet cloth on her forehead. "Ngh…" she began, but Missandei's voice eased her down. "No, Your Grace. You've lost a lot of blood, it would be unwise to move." After a moment, Dany came to the realization that she had been taken out of her white coat. In fact, she was naked under the covers. "What.. What is this?: What happened to me?" she asked her friend. Missandei pursed her lips. "You almost died, Your Grace. The red one, she carried you up two flights of stairs to my room. You bled so heavily and your fever was so strong… I thought for a terrifying black moment I'd have no Queen to serve." she breathed shakily. "I almost died? Did I take a wound or.." she looked around, but no one was in there with them. "Nobody in but for Grey Worm and I. _Lady_ Stark's orders." Missandei explained, her derision making Dany giggle despite everything. "Pardon me…" she lifted the cover and looked at Dany's body. "You seem...better now. The blood was so dark it was almost black. At any rate, I'm glad you're not dead." Missandei brought her lips to her Queen's forehead in a chaste almost adoring kiss. Dany giggled again. "So am I."

Rather than feeling like she'd lost an alarming amount of blood from perhaps the worst possible place a woman could normally, Dany felt curiously…well, not well, but appreciably tolerable. She had only been insensate for a few hours, and the cool cloths had done for her fever what they'd done for the blood- soak it up and out of her. The morning after, Missandei helped Dany get to her feet. A gasp as her exposed feet touched the cold stone. Her faithful friend made to get a pair of slippers, but Dany took her arm. "No…I need this. More than anything." the Queen explained as she took another step, and another and another. Blissful relief swam up her legs. _Cold preserves_, she grinned. "If you would…please find Jon. And…and Sansa too." she asked. Missandei nodded and left the room, leaving Dany to pull on a robe and feel the chill of Winterfell put out the fire raging in her flesh.

When they came to her, she was sitting on the bed, taking slow breaths. "It seems I owe you my life, Lady Sansa." Dany said. "My duty and my pleasure, your Grace." Sansa seemed immensely relieved that they had not lost the Dragon Queen. Jon's eyes went back and forth, wider and wider until Dany broke out in a fit of giggles. "Relax, Jon. We just had a little heart to heart." "Until Her Grace decided it was time I saw just what was flowing through her heart!" Sansa quipped. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone- but the blood that seeped out from below the Queen's belt was almost tar. Black as sludge, about as thick, and almost bubbling it was so hot. She managed to get her cleaned up before any more questions could be asked. Dany took Sansa's hand in hers. "What you said before… did you mean it? A New North? A paradise for all who fought for the dawn during the Long Night?" Sansa's eyes widened now. "I did…and I do. Have you given it some thought?" "Only every waking second. I think perhaps that living _is_ preferable to ruling. After all, one cannot exactly rule without living. Even the Night King was 'alive' in his way." Sansa took a breath of unrestrained relief, while Jon got on his knee and took Dany's other hand. _Whatever horror was looming has been dispelled_, Sansa thought. _Go to your long dead kings of old, and vex us no more. We are the New North, and I will give my life to protect this House, all who reside here, my King…and my Queen, _she resolved.

When Sansa was called away on some matter of logistics, Dany turned to Jon. His face was pale, eyes big and so brown. "You almost died, Dany. It looked as though someone had…" he trailed off. "Had stabbed me in the womb, from the inside out?" she asked quietly. Jon's jaw _popped_ as it fell open. "Do you remember what I told you at the Dragonpit? About the _Maegi_?" Wordlessly, Jon nodded. "It seems she never thought to add a spot of cold into her curse…" Dany mused. "Wait...so…you think…" "Cold preserves, Jon Snow. When has a Targaryen ever had to say that to a Northman?" she smiled. "Do you know for sure?" he asked, hand still in hers. "Well, I might feel a bit more strongly one way or another if you're willing to do your part. Once I recover, of course. Right now I feel would be unwise." she turned pink. So did he.

A New North, Sansa thought. The others would follow whatever path their leaders chose, she knew. _Time now to see what we will see_. Finding Arya for only the second or third time since the battle strapping up a horse with the Hound doing the same, stopped Sansa in her tracks. "Wh-where are you going?" she asked. "To kill Cersei." Arya replied casually. "What about… what about your blacksmith?" Sansa cried. "What about him?" Arya asked. "You idiot, what do you think I mean? Stay, be with him, be _with_ him!" Arya frowned. "That's none of your business. Let's go." To her great annoyance though, the Hound did not move. "If he's someone important's bastard, I'm sure he could be legitimized. Easily made a fitting husband for any highborn girl. After his work with the obsidian, he could ask for any castle, and their Graces would gladly grant it." Sansa spluttered on, Arya looked at her coldly. "Their Graces? There is only _one_ Grace to me, Sansa." "And if your _one_ Grace married? What would that make his wife, his very _royal _wife? Don't go, Arya. Stay here, with us. You are a Stark, your place is at Winterfell. So much death over thrones and lands…we just fought a battle for life itself and now that it's over, you want to go end more lives?" 'I told her this was a bad idea. But far be it from a wolf pup full of piss and anger to listen to an old hound who's had an ear bit off by a woman bigger than him." Sandor Clegane rasped. Arya gave him that empty cold stare. "You don't need to go South to kill Cersei, Arya. You'll do it just fine by living. By being with your blacksmith. By bringing House Baratheon back to life." Arya's eyebrows went up. "Yes, I know who he is. What he is. I don't want you to leave, Sister." this time, Arya's gray Stark eyes looked into Sansa's blues in amazement. "If you left, our pack would not be whole. We've lost enough as is. We can't lose you too." Sansa said, before turning and heading back into the castle proper, leaving Arya stunned in the saddle. After a moment, Sandor Clegane gave a long sigh. "Ah, fuck it, wolf girl. They aren't worth dying over. Come on, you have a blacksmith to drive insane." he said, dismounting Stranger and lifting her off Craven.

Tyrion Lannister had spent the last days of his life getting splendidly drunk. When those turned out rather jarringly _not _to be the last days of his life, he decided to make up for past losses by spending every moment of his renewed life splendidly drunk- and swapping jokes with the soldiers, laughing with anyone who could stand to be near him, glorying in being the most popular Lannister, and other such joyous devices. Feeling sobriety touch on, he headed for the wine jug, leaving a trio of free folk in stitches about a record-breaking fish a man had caught by fishing with his cock. To his surprise, he ran headfirst into Sansa Stark, his lady wife. At least, so he supposed. "Your pardon-" he began to slide by, but Sansa stopped him. "Tyrion." her voice was full of emotion. Immediately, he took her hands in his. "Yes?' he breathed, not daring make another sound. "Back in the Landing, those years ago. You were the only one besides the Hound who looked at me as a girl, and not a walking claim to Winterfell. You protected me from Joffrey, protected me from Cersei… even protected me from yourself." she said. _Ah, yes, our wedding night_, Tyrion thought. _Only slightly less distasteful a night than the Long Night itself_. "When we were in the crypt, what you did, was that a chivalrous goodbye? Or something more?" she asked. He blinked. "Something m- I'm sorry, Sansa, I'm not quite-" he spluttered. "The New North, our New North has a focus in Jon and Daenerys. But they'll need help, and from those they trust." Tyrion nodded. "Alright, I'm hearing sense so far…" he said slowly. "I'm sure Sandor will talk Arya into staying. I'm not sure about right away, but I know her blacksmith will work up the courage to ask her to marry him." Tyrion's stomach did a backflip. "You're talking of weddings?" he asked, face spinning through so many expressions it made Sansa dizzy. She took his hand in hers. "I know you…care for me, as a lord might a lady." she said. _Holy shit_, he thought. "Such a peace as we have the opportunity to make will require contribution from many. Well, it so happens we have the many right here, in Winterfell. We have a heart tree, a Godswood, and all those we love with us. Time I think to turn our motley group into a royal court, officially." Now, Tyrion felt quite as though he'd drunk a barrel bigger than he was. "Tyrion Lannister, would you be my husband?" Three barrels.

Leaving Sansa, Tyrion staggered across the whole of Winterfell, looking for his brother. You'd think a golden handed westerman would be an easy find, being the only one, but no. Tyrion had to find his brother and Ser Brienne of Tarth in a state of marked indecency. "Ah…may I have a moment?" he asked loudly. Brienne shrieked, Jaime swore, and both tumbled off the bed. "Ah, little brother." Jaime said, looking from side to side. "I'm a bit occupied at present, do the royal couple have need of cripples? They need only Bran for that." Tyrion frowned in mock. "You know, you're doing your lady a terrible disservice. Tsk tsk." Jaime frowned this time. "Uh, wh- uhm….what?" he asked. "Well, what scandal! A Snow borne of Ser Brienne of the Kingsguard, fathered by Ser Jaime of that same esteemed order!" Jaime's brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak. "Never mind. I've already met someone who's worked out a most elegant solution. Makes me proud, she does. Keeps me honest. I suppose it's taken me until just now to realize what a gift she was from the gods to me." "What in bluthering fuck are you talking about?" Jaime asked. "Both of you, sundown. The Godswood. Try to be presentable." he said, leaving them. "I can't help but feel an incredibly important life decision has been made for me by a member of my family without my knowledge. You'd think I'd get used to it." Jaime said, almost introspectively. Brienne burst out laughing.

When not required by her Queen, Missandei spent as much time with Grey Worm as she could. Still shaken from the battle, he was not the soldier he had been less than a week before. _A pile of wights would unnerve any man_, she thought. Imagine her surprise when she found the dwarf animatedly talking to him about whatever schemes were whirling in his mind. To her even greater surprise, he did not look contemptuous or even disinterested, as he oft was with the dwarf in Meereen. "Ah, Missandei! We've been waiting for you, would you kindly have a seat?" She sat without a word. "Missandei of Naath. I asked you if you wanted to grow old in this place." Grey Worm stated. She looked at him. "Yes. I told you I'd rather see Naath again." "Of course, of course- but would you rather go back to Naath as Missandei… or as someone more?" he offered. "What are you talking of?" Grey Worm asked crossly. "Ahh, there he is. Just needed a bit of prodding to get that steel back in your spine." Tyrion gently tapped his arm with his fist. Grey Worm shot him a look. "Now, I know that what is considered "marriage" isn't a practice in Naath-" "Who's getting married?" Missandei asked suddenly, breath quickening. Tyrion started, then began tapping fingers. "Ahh, let's see. Well, Their Graces, obviously…Arya Stark and Robert's bastard, I and the lovely lady Sansa, my idiot brother Jaime and Brienne of Tarth, whether he likes it or fucking not…the big lad, Samwell and his paramour, I forget her name…and I was hoping your two would make the sixth happy couple!" Tyrion folded his hands, propped them under his chin and regarded them as though they were still talking about what was or wasn't a joke in Meereen. Grey Worm went very still. "Unsull-" "You don't need a cock to get married in Westeros. If I may be honest…" He leaned forward so they had to do likewise to hear "I would think that a man who has no worry about his own satisfaction would make by far the best lover out of any ovus." He shrugged. "But it's none of my business. Tell you what. If you're feeling nuptial, come to the Godswood at sundown.

Jon rather felt that something was afoot when all of a sudden he lost track of Arya and Sansa all at once. He passed Tyrion shaking hands with Sam, toasting and congratulating him on the new baby on the way with Gilly. Jon drank a cup himself in Sam's honor. Spotting Ghost restlessly pacing side to side, he took the white wolf gently- He'd lost an ear and was limping a bit. "Hello, boy. What has you all riled?' he asked. To his amazement, Ghost suddenly leaned his head back and let out a long sonorous howl. Almost immediately, the call of the pack answered- there must have been a thousand voices in the chorus, including a deeper, richer one like Ghost. "Your- Hey!" one of the freedmen on the wall was waving his arms above his head. Jon heard the dragons warbling to each other curiously. When Jon got up to look, he saw Arya's wolf, Nymeria trotting down the roat, straight to Winterfell's front gate- her countless pack remaining behind but near. Ghost darted out to her and the two tussled for a moment before Nymeria licked his wounded ear. _She remembers him. Remembers this place, remembers home_. Jon realized. Well, if Nymeria felt the urge to return, that must have meant Arya was staying at least. Jon felt that assurance inexpressibly welcome_. Best not tempt a creature as wild as Arya_, Jon thought_. Dany's going to have to legitimize Gendry, that poor bugger_.

When Dany found Jon, he was watching the last rays of light sink over the horizon. She slipped an arm in his and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I did not see it before, but this place is beautiful." she said after a time. "The cold, it keeps people together. No time for division when the cold itself is always fighting you. Rather like a wolf pack, I would think." she giggled. Every time he heard her laugh or saw her smile, he sent out a prayer to whatever Valyrian god of mercy, of base _mercy_, was listening to their last remaining daughter. That they had made it here at all was a miracle of unparalleled wonder. "Dany, do you know where everyone is?" he asked her suddenly. Her eyes opened and she was about to give him a clever answer when she realized she hadn't seen any of their closest confidants in a few hours. There was a sound of boots on woods, and Davos Seaworth stepped up to them. "Apologies, your Graces." he bowed. "But I do think there's rather something you need to see going on in the Godswood."

When they reached it, Dany _oooohed_. Even Jon was blown away by the effect the setting sun had on the place. A kind of natural lighting, illuminating the forms of all those they had been missing. "What… what is this?" Dany asked Jon, turning to him. "You're asking the wrong person. You may not know this, but I'm quite the celebrity due to my ignorance. Or so I hear." he smiled back. "_Oi! _Let's not wait for the light to die, get up here, boy!" Jon heard Tormund roar. Stepping up to the tree, Jon realized that there were a good number of people here. Yohn Royce, leaning heavily on a cane. Davos Seaworth, looking fifteen years younger than Jon had ever known him. All the others came and went from view, but Jon could feel them. Podrick Payne appeared, pushing Bran, accompanied by a girl Jon had never seen before. About his age, with long dark hair. He eased Bran into place, the girl standing beside him. "Bran, what's going on?" he whispered. "What's supposed to be going on." Bran replied in his usual tone. _Helpful_, Jon mused. Davos stepped forward. "Your Graces. We've talked it over good and thorough, excepting Ser Jaime since when has he ever thought through anything." the crowd laughed, the sound echoing infectiously in the holy place of the old gods. "We thought it'd make a nice statement as to just what the hell the lot of us are doing in Winterfell so blessedly long. Now that everyone's wounds are sewn shut, healing up, it's time to do the same for the North's itself. _Wait a minute… _Jon thought. He felt Dany's grip on him tighten the sweetest bit. "And what better way to close a land's wounds than by marriage? It's a brand new world, friends. Be a shame to only let the old folks appreciate it." More laughter, from Royce and Tormund, two men who could not be more different. "So, if you two are agreeable, we'll get this done right proper." "RIGHT PROPER!" Tormund roared, laughing! "Right proper. Now, if the gentlemen in the audience could turn and face their ladies?" Numbly, Jon and Dany turned, to see those they cared for most doing the same. To his surprise, Jon spotted Bran looking with something like affection at the girl beside him, who was freely crying, a smile on her face. "All right. Now, never done this before, but since there's no Star to read from, I reckon all that needs doing is for you poor clods to show your ladies what they mean to you." While the other couples made their chaste displays, Jon took Dany in his arms and did just that, picking her up and twirling her in the golden mist of the fading day. Applause filled his ears as he spun, and for just a moment, he could swear he saw Ned Stark in the crowd.

A Dream of Spring

Varys watched the days turn into weeks- and those turn into months. To his utter amazement, it had worked. Where secrecy, lies and subterfuge had failed time and again, open honesty, amity and love had succeeded in a masterstroke. There was no word from the south as to the goings on, but he found he didn't much care. After the ceremony, he had gone to Tyrion and Sansa. "Apologies, my Lady. I require your husband for one more moment before I remand him to your custody for the remainder of his life." He apologized to Sansa, who nodded, kissing his hand before heading off. "I don't deserve this." Tyrion said, in the stone halls as the servants cooked and readied for a feast to end all feasts. Varys was quiet for a moment. "Yes, you do. Even the lowliest peasant deserves peace, food, and health, but the lords and ladies who freely give it to him should be favored by the fates above all others." he said. Tyrion looked at him. "Varys, are you crying?" he asked, shocked. "I must confess. I did not believe this possible. Not in my wildest dreams did I envision such a thing when Ned Stark walked through the Small Council chamber door. I was so afraid, up until the end. Then, I realized while I was down in that crypt that this is what I've been working towards for the entirety of my life. The people responsible for ending the Long Night can surely manage to bring about an Endless Summer- or at least a bloody long one. Men like Aerys, like Littlefinger, like your father operated on the logic that to gain, you must take from others. What we've seen assembled is a court that gains by giving _to _others." he sniffled. Tyrion was speechless. "Thank you for making this possible, my friend." After a moment, Tyrion simply reached out his hand to Varys. He took it, and shook. "On behalf of all of us, thank you for helping us become the people we were destined to be."

Of course, the celebrating that followed the Great Spring Wedding carried on for days. Once even that died down, people seemed reluctant to leave Winterfell. Not that Jon could blame them. They'd turned the site of the Long Night into a paradise. Though winter wore on, no one much minded. Though no one said it aloud, the losses they had suffered created a veritable foodstuff surplus. Jon supposed it was just as well, as there wasn't much for him and Dany to do other than visit the dragons. Rhaegal's wounds had been slow to heal, and his eye was completely ruined, but the bugger was alive. Lately, he'd been leading his elder brother to the southwest- and he had a good idea where they were going. Why the waterfall, he couldn't guess, but he was just relieved that Rhaegal was airworthy again. The day Jon mounted him was a windfall all its own. Gilly had a baby girl, healthy as can be, to the delight of the maids of Winterfell. When Rhaegal spread his green wings, he could see the milky scars that knitted across his wings. Even the dragons had wounds that needed healing. Jon took a breath and kicked his heels, Rhaegal shooting up after his brother. Trying to enjoy the ride, Jon reflected. _Without a Night King to ruin the mood, this isn't so bad. Dunno if I'd do it every day, though_. Circling high and diving low, Jon felt the descent in his gut as Rhaegal landed on the now-usual spot. A moment later, and Daenerys was behind him. "Why here? What draws them?" Jon had asked her. She looked puzzled. "Truthfully? I don't know. Rhaegal is the one who picked this spot, you should know him better." she smirked. Jon thought. That wasn't right, Drogon always took the lead. Then he remembered, Rhaegal _had_ picked this spot, Drogon offering not a hiss of protest. His thoughts wheeled in his head slowly, as if a great puzzle he could not solve. When Nymeria had finally had a litter, she had picked the pupping den, not Red Pelt. True, that could have been because of her size… "Dany." His voice was barely a whisper. She looked at him, mystified, even concerned, until he pointed a shaking finger at Rhaegal. On closer looking, she realized what he was pointing at. Just visible under Rhaegal's bulk was a glinting object that woke an awed fascination with her. When they got close, though, the green dragon let out a displeased shriek, smoke issuing from his nostrils. "Easy boy…" Jon muttered. _What am I thinking? _"Uhh… easy, girl…" he said, slowly luring Rhaegal away from the spot to which he (she?) was so attached. Upon shifting, Dany caught a glimpse of a half dozen of them- the sight such a surpirse she actually jumped and brought her hands to her mouth! Jon held up his hands and backed away from the new mother. "They must be only days old. She-wolves don't let anything come near their newborns, not even the fathers." Jon said breathlessly, awestruckedly. Nearer the waterfall, Jon reflected on the first time they had come here. The calm before the storm. "What else could happen, d'you think?" he muttered, shaking his head. Dany came up behind him. "Jon… I don't know if keeping your secret is so important anymore." she said, in an oddly hushed tone. Behind them, they heard Rhaegal's angry shriek! Drogon was attempting to nudge Rhaegal into moving, to look at what she had. The green snapped viciously at him and curled up, unwilling to budge. "I think perhaps you should ride back with me, Jon Snow." Dany suggested. 'I think that's a good idea." Jon replied, smiling.

They had decided to keep the news secret, and for good reason. News of dragons was legend enough to draw adventurers. News of breeding dragons was enough to draw whole egg-hungry fleets. "We'll show her Skane." Jon decided, once they were back behind Winterfell's walls, heading to dinner. "What is Skane?" Dany asked. "It's an island. Full of pointy rocks, bad weather, the works. Rumors of cannibals living in the caves and such. Perfect place for a dragon to do what she needs to, no one will bother her there." "Oh, Jon, why must we go to Skane whenever we feel like celebrating our marriage?" he blinked. "Wh- oh, you dolt." he laughed. She had taken him literally for a giggle. Well, at least the dragons were enjoying all life had to offer. Just one more bit of business, and he could call it a life. The doors open and they walk in, arm in arm, to the usual revels. Taking their accustomed seats, Jon felt no less than total satisfaction with where he was, and who he was there with. When he called for silence to tell them at long last, what name he had been born under, he was surprised how offhanded everyone took it. "I mean, no offense boy, but you rode a fucking dragon. Either you've got dragon in you, or you're the single luckiest fucking lad who ever lived. Probably both." Tormund had told him later on, when it was Jon, Sam, Tormund and Grey Worm at a table, drinking, living, laughing. True, Grey Worm did not laugh, but his manner had improved drastically since the battle. Jon must have looked misty-eyed though. To lose that connection to Ned Stark, that hurt to this day. He noticed Dany looking at him and smiled across the room at her. Her voice made the room go silent quickly. "Whatever is the matter, Your Grace?" she called. Jon grinned as Tormund slapped him on the back. "Oh, nothing. Just wish someone could have seen all this." he replied, taking another drink. The revels began to break out when the Queen spoke again. "You mean Eddard." Silence now. Confused, he nodded his head. "Yes." "He is here, though. Right here in front of everyone." _What the hell is she talking about? _Jon thought, more bemused by the moment. "Forgive me, Daenerys-" the hall gave a rowdy cheer. Their patience for 'Your Grace' was always short. "-but I'd know if an Eddard were in our hall." She gave him a strange little smile, one he'd never seen before. "You know nothing, Jon Snow." For exactly three seconds, he was just as confused as before. Then, when his eyes got bigger, she chastely put a hand to her belly. For a moment, everyone just stared at each other- and then, chaos. Jon was beset on all sides from roaringly drunk friends, Tormund thumping him on the back so hard he thought he'd spit a tooth out! He managed to reach Daenerys, whom he simply scooped up and held aloft, letting her look over the heads of all in the room. Benches scraped the floor as Free Folk, Northmen, Dothraki, Unsullied and all the rest followed the court to their feet. Congratulations, random shouts of victory and calls for more ale were gradually lost as the hall's din filtered to a single word.

"Eddard!

"_EDDARD_!"

"_**EDDARD**_!"


End file.
